TCOT Dubious Bridegroom, Extended
by Captain Weirdo
Summary: Summary? There's supposed to be a summary? I never know what to say! This is a story about Perry Mason and Della Street. They do stuff. Together. Except, not always. Just go read it! And leave a comment.
1. Chapter 1

_AN: This story is a continuation of the book The Case of The Dubious Bridegroom by Erle Stanley Gardner. Gardner is not writing from beyond the grave under the slightly ridiculous pseudonym of Captain Weirdo. That means that I'm getting no money from this and I can claim no credit for creating these characters or the story it's based on. And since I'm in a confessional mood, I have to admit that I've mis-represented the end of the book just a bit. The book has Mason's usual courtroom scenes, doesn't actually end in the courtroom as I've indicated here._

_The idea for this story came from what I thought was the odd attitude that Perry Mason shows towards Della Street in the book. There are two or three occasions where Della delivers some sharp wit and strong opinion regarding the character Frank Livesey. Perry pretty much blows her off each time. It seems really out of character for him. ESG never addresses this in the book, at least not to my satisfaction, so I thought I'd play with the idea a little bit and see what happens._

* * *

Della Street fitted her latch key into the door and glanced at her wristwatch as she stepped into her apartment. She sighed. There was barely time to change clothes before he was due to arrive.

The bags of groceries she'd stopped to pick up on the way home weighed heavily in her arms as she made her way through the apartment towards her kitchen. They'd been so busy this week that she'd not had time to pick up even the essentials, and even her liquor supply was pretty well depleted. There had been more than one late night conference at her apartment in recent weeks and, between Perry and Paul, the alcohol stash was just about gone.

Normally Della wouldn't have bothered to stop at the grocery store on a Friday afternoon, just to buy a few supplies. But since she wanted to prepare for a possible nightcap later on, she decided to grab some breakfast ingredients as well, reasoning that sleeping in would be a better way to spend Saturday morning, rather than getting dressed and going out to eat or making an early morning market run.

Della was tired. The long work week ended triumphantly with Perry securing his client's acquittal on all charges. She enjoyed seeing him play out the truth before a crowded courtroom, master of his element. But she couldn't deny being just a bit miffed by the outcome.

Frank Livesey was the key to the whole murder scheme. Of course.

Perry waxed eloquent any time he had the chance about how he relied on Della and her knowledge of human nature and her ability to judge character, based on more than just instinct. He never belittled her insights as mere feminine intuition. Until now. She had to admit that Perry hadn't really ignored her, but she'd tried without success – more than once – to warn him about Livesey.

The first time Frank Livesey came to the office, she characterized him as cruel. Obviously his unscrupulous nature freed him to do anything he thought necessary to get what he wanted. That kind of man is always dangerous. Yet each time she mentioned Livesey's sleazy character, Perry paid no attention.

As she deposited the food and bottles into cabinets and the refrigerator, she mentally searched her closet, trying to decide what to wear for the evening. Her weariness made the choice harder than usual. If she had her way, she'd soak in a hot bath, wrap up in a soft terry cloth robe and snuggle on the couch with her employer. Unfortunately, he had other plans.

Della and Perry had yet to work out the dynamics of their social relationship. The working relationship was damn near perfect. But the time they spent together outside the office was becoming more complicated. They were on the cusp of change, the relationship was either going to deepen or cool significantly. Della understood this, but knew that Perry couldn't quite put his finger on what was going on with them. That's why, for instance, their celebration would consist of dinner and dancing again, rather than spending a quiet, intimate evening on Della's couch. Being together in public was less risky. Perry, Della realized, couldn't decide how to take the next step.

Della smiled at the knowledge that she had confounded the great Perry Mason. The self-described student of humanity hadn't yet figured her out. She knew that he wanted her. Knew without a doubt. But she also realized that he didn't know how to handle everything a more intimate relationship entailed. Perry obviously didn't want to put her into the position of having to make an awkward choice if he took things in a more physical direction and she didn't want to go there.

Della knew there had been other women before her. Perry Mason was no naive choirboy. Della had given him plenty of subtle, yet unmistakable signals as to her desires. And yet something held him back - keeping him from making her just another conquest. Della thought - hoped - she knew the reason behind his hesitancy. Hopefully he considered the growing closeness of their connection something special. Perhaps just having an affair with his secretary wouldn't suffice. He'd even offered her a ring. His proposal, although spontaneous and unplanned, was evidence of how much he cared for her.

'How much he cared at that time, anyway. Have his feelings changed?' she wondered.

Della emptied the grocery bags. The last item she retrieved was a small carton of expensive vanilla ice cream. Inserting a nail under the edge of the lid, she pried it open and dipped a finger into the silky treat. She grinned as she brought the finger to her lips. 'Another advantage to living alone,' she thought as the ice cream slid over her tongue and down her throat. She deposited the carton in the freezer.

Della remembered Perry's proposal. As sincere as he no doubt was, she turned him down. That really confused him. Her smile widened. Conventional wisdom held that women would jump at the chance to sew a man as eligible and desirous as Perry Mason into a lifetime commitment. Especially the type of commitment that included access to the bank account.

Conventional wisdom would also assert that once a woman rejects your proposal of marriage, she doesn't normally follow that rejection with a sensuous, toe-curling kiss that left both parties sorely in need of relief. That night Della had left Perry a confused mass of rejection and good, old-fashioned lust. Della knew he would figure it out, sooner or later. At this rate, though, it looked like it would be later rather than sooner.

The groceries were put away, so Della slipped back through the swinging door on her way to the bedroom. She didn't see it coming. She never knew what hit her. She didn't feel a thing as her body crumpled to the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks for the wonderful comments! Glad to know you're reading! (And don't worry - I could never kill Perry or Della. They're safe with me. Most of the time...)_

* * *

Perry Mason checked his reflection in the mirror. He adjusted his tie, flexed his arms and shot the cuffs of his dress shirt, making sure the ruby and gold cuff-links were secure. Although he looked calm and confident on the outside, he felt nothing like that on the inside.

He should have been elated, still riding high on the wave of triumph brought on by the successful conclusion of his case. Normally he would have been, but not tonight. He knew he'd made a huge mistake, but unfortunately he didn't know it until that stunning moment when everyone else in the courtroom learned who the killer was. While the spectators grasped that Frank Livesey was involved in the murderer, Perry realized that he should've known sooner – would have known sooner – if he'd listened to Della.

When his secretary complimented him as they filed out of the courtroom, he knew that she realized what he'd done. Typically effusive in her praise, this time she offered sincere congratulations, but her voice held little of its usual warmth. Normally her eyes would have sparkled and danced with pride in his accomplishment. This time she didn't even make eye contact.

They didn't have time to talk before the press descended, clamoring for an interview, but she'd at least agreed to his hastily whispered invitation to dinner.

Perry reached up to run a hand through his dark wavy hair, but caught sight of his reflection once more and stopped, hand in mid-air. He didn't want to waste time re-combing it. In fact, he didn't want to waste any more time, period. He needed to see Della.

He snatched up his dinner jacket from the back of a chair and walked quickly to the elevator. The drive to Della's apartment gave him time to do some thinking. He knew he needed to give some consideration to their relationship. He'd put it on the back burner, again, during his latest case.

'Yet another mistake,' he thought, jamming his foot on the accelerator. Mason weaved the big car in and out of the early evening traffic.

Even though Della Street was a bit of a conundrum for him, he loved her. He'd accepted that fact for a while now. Perry Mason lived his life according to his own rules. It worked well and he'd achieved phenomenal success. The thought of sharing that success with someone special had a certain appeal, but sharing his life meant changing his life. That sort of change didn't interest him. Until now.

Della drove him crazy, but she also made him feel complete. He wanted – needed – her. He'd never felt this way about any woman before. If he were completely honest with himself, he had to admit his expertise in dealing with people did not extend to his romantic relationships.

The occasional fling was something he was a master of -- no expectations, no commitments. He'd dated a lot of women - clients, starlets, women he met on his occasional nightclub crawls with Paul Drake. Until now he'd had no room in his life for a real connection. He'd tried it once before, when he thought he'd found a woman who shared his dreams and goals. That had been a spectacular failure. Once he realized how badly he'd misjudged that situation, he withdrew. He didn't need a woman in his life. He was much to busy and living at his preferred breakneck pace was easier on his own.

And then he found Della. Not long after she came into his world, he began to long for something more. She was different - special. She fit perfectly into the empty spaces in his existence. He knew full well that she had subtly, softly and completely unintentionally wound her way tightly into the fabric of his life. Life was better with her than without her, both professionally and personally.

Della could be the making of him, as his grandmother would say, if he handled this right.

If he made a misstep, it could mean not only the end of his chances for loving her with everything he had to offer, but it could mean the end of their working relationship as well. Was it worth the risk?

His logical mind had examined that question from every angle in the past few months and he'd eventually come to the conclusion that the safest course of action was the old fashioned one. He'd asked her to marry him weeks ago. To say that her reaction had been unexpected was the understatement of the year.

_The music matched Perry's mood perfectly. He swayed in perfect time, holding Della Street as close as he dared. They circled the dance floor time and again, each lost in their own private thoughts. When the band finally took a break, Perry indicated the doors to the terrace opening off the ballroom. Della nodded her agreement and followed him, hand-in-hand, out into the night air. _

_The birthday party for Judge Harkins, who had been a mentor and friend to Mason over the years, was held at the jurist's huge country home. Thousands of twinkling stars lit the summer night, mirrored by the twinkling lights inside. The terrace offered a certain measure of privacy, away from the celebrations inside. _

_Mason drew Della to one side where a railing overlooked the fountain in the garden below. He smiled when he heard her small gasp of surprise at the beauty of the scene stretching out below them. Mrs. Harkins, an avid gardener, displayed her handiwork, lit by more twinkling lights, and turned the desert landscape into a tropical oasis. _

_"Oh, Perry! It's gorgeous," Della breathed. _

_He smiled as he watched her. "Not as gorgeous as you." _

_She laughed somewhat self-consciously. "Thanks, but I hardly think I compare with the beauty of nature."_

_He smiled and shook his head. They stood side by side in silence, Della reveling in the beauty of the garden at night. Finally, Perry spoke. "You really don't have any idea, do you?"_

_"About what?" she asked, turning towards him._

_"About how beautiful you truly are." She started to protest, but he pulled her into him, cutting her off with a kiss. When the need for air finally drove them apart, Perry refused to let her go. Instead he held her waist tightly with one arm and caressed the side of her face with his hand. 'This is it - the perfect moment,' he thought. _

_"Marry me, Della."_

_Surprise flickered across her expression then softened into something else. She reached up and circled his neck with her arms and leaned her head on his shoulder. He could feel her body shaking. She didn't say a word._

_"Della?" _

_She pulled back then and he could see the merriment glittering in her eyes. He realized her trembling had nothing to do with tears, she was shaking with laughter. "I'm sorry, Perry," she said, trying, unsuccessfully, to suppress a smile. "I didn't mean to laugh - really. It's just..." His eyebrows raised and he looked at her questioningly. She gave him that cocky grin he'd come to both love and dread. _

_"I never knew you were such an incurable romantic!" she said. Mason, now thoroughly confused, tried to step away from her, but she held him tightly. Sensing his confusion, she said, "I can't marry you, Perry Mason." _

_He felt like he'd been kicked in the gut. "I see. I..." He pulled away from her and turned to survey the scene in the garden below. He needed a moment to think, to collect himself. How could he have been so stupid? He'd been so sure that she loved him, too._

_Della's hand grasped his shoulder, pulling him around to face her. "No, you don't see," she said, taking his face in her hands. Before he could reply, she pulled his head down to her, capturing his lips in a heated kiss. Her lips parted beneath his, inviting a deeper exploration. As he took possession of her mouth, she pressed her body fully into him. His desire for her was quickly becoming evident, even as she communicated her own needs to him. She kissed him with a wanton extravagance; her hands traveled the planes of his chest, his back, then moved up his neck and once again to the sides of his face. When she pulled away from him, he almost groaned at the loss of contact. He reached for her instinctively, but she gracefully eluded him and turned away. "You don't see at all," she said laughingly over her shoulder as she left him alone on the terrace._

He couldn't remember a time when he'd experienced such despair and elation within mere moments of each other. Her laughter could only mean he had completely misread her feelings. But that kiss...

The smiled that broke over his features at the memory of the kiss was almost goofy. He was still reminiscing about it when his car pulled to a stop in front of Della's building. There was a decided spring in his step as he crossed the sidewalk and followed one of the tenants inside. He didn't bother to buzz her apartment - it would be more fun to surprise her.


	3. Chapter 3

Della wasn't really awake.

The pounding in her head kept consciousness at bay. It was a curtain, heavy and dark, and its weight smothered her. As the pain became sharper, it honed her awareness and the curtain began to lift.

She still felt the smothering weight. She could barely breathe and panic gripped the edges of her mind. Her wrists, elbows and shoulders burned and throbbed. A heaviness, something on top of her chest, moved. Hands skimmed over her body. A mouth, hot and wet, pressed against her neck.

A flash of light exploded in her head.

"No!" she screamed. In her mind she screamed, but in reality the sound was barely more than a gasp. Her lungs couldn't take in enough air for anything more.

"Oh, good. You're awake."

Della's vision focused and Frank Livesey's features coalesced before her. The grin that curled his lips wasn't remotely humorous. "Your...stimulating participation will make this much more enjoyable. How's the head?" He moved off of her while talking and sat on the edge of the couch where she lay. He reached out and ran a hand around the back of her head. She winced sharply when he touched the lump that had formed there. Livesey smiled too widely - his capped teeth gleaming from between taut lips.

"Works every time," he said. "I was worried I'd hit you a little too hard. You stayed out longer than most. But, as you'll notice, the time wasn't wasted." There was an insane nonchalance to his words, as if they were friends, chit-chatting over coffee.

Della strained against the ropes that held her arms securely behind her. She yelled again, but still made almost no noise, even though Livesey was no longer lying on top of her. A gag - something stuffed into her mouth and held in place with adhesive tape - muffled any sound. Panic rising again in the back of her throat, Della struggled to sit up. Livesey pushed her back down.

"Don't try it, doll," he sneered. "You're not going anywhere. We're just getting started." As he spoke, he grasped her jaw and turned her head towards him. "I have to admit I was surprised when I followed you from the courthouse. Do you always buy your groceries on Friday afternoon? Then just come home? You're lucky I came along if that's the most excitment you can come up with on a Friday night. What were you going to do with the rest of the evening? Play Scrabble with your cat or something?" he ridiculed. "With that face and your body, I figured your big shot boss would want to do his celebrating with you. I guess I was wrong about the two of you, eh?" Livesey laughed and patted her cheek. "What's the matter? Maybe he likes blondes? Or are you good enough for a little fun in the office, but not the arm candy he wants when he's out for a night on the town?"

Della jerked her head away from him.

"Temper, temper, sweetheart. I guess I struck a nerve there, didn't I? You got a thing for your boss?" Livesey leaned in closer and dropped his voice a notch. "Don't worry, baby. One night with me and you won't want any other man. Not for a long, long time."

Hot tears stung the corners of her eyes, but she blinked then back, unshed. Frenzied thoughts tumbled over one another in Della's mind. She still wasn't sure what had happened nor how long she'd been unconscious. He followed her from the courthouse? How did he get into the apartment? If she could get off the couch - make some noise - would anyone hear? The door - she couldn't remember locking the door when she got home. And Perry? He said he would pick her up here. When? How much longer before he arrived? Why hadn't she seen Livesey - sensed him - following her?

Livesey curled his finger's around Della's chin, turning her towards him once more. She flinched at the look in his eyes. Noting her reaction, Livesey chuckled. "I've got plans for you, doll." He released her chin and drew his hand down Della's throat to her chest. He slid his hands under the lapels of her suit jacket and pushed it back off her shoulders, exposing the silk blouse she wore underneath.

Running his fingers lightly over the material covering her breasts, he smiled and licked his lips. "Once the DA figures out what your boss did in court today, they'll put a warrant out for me. The police are probably out searching for me right now. They won't think of looking for me here! That means we've got all night, baby. All night long." Livesey leaned in and kissed her neck, just below her ear. "If I'm going to end up in prison thanks to Perry Mason," he murmured, "I might as well have some good memories to take with me, thanks to you!"

Della twisted her shoulders in an attempt to push him away. His response was to wrap his fingers around her neck. He held her there, tightening the grip and cutting off the air supply until she stopped fighting. As Della fell still, Livesey released his hold and began to open her blouse.

"You made it clear how you felt about me when I was in Mason's office." He leered at her. "I'm going to enjoy wiping that condescending look off your face. We could've done this the easy way then. I like to show a girl a good time. But when a dame gets all uppity with me, I teach her a lesson. Now you're going to have to lie there and take it - whether you like it or not." Della blinked at him, her eyes questioning. "You're not the first woman I've had to "educate", but it looks like you'll be the last." He grinned. "I blindfolded the others. They never knew who I was."

Livesey had slowly worked the buttons of her shirt as he spoke. Now the top of her blouse fell open.

"Mmm. Mmm. Mmm. Very nice."

Powered by desperation, Della pushed with her legs as hard as she could, trying to find leverage against her attacker. Cords bound her ankles and Livesey had only to reach behind him and grab hold of her thighs to still her movements. The shift in his attention gave her a chance to sit up and try to roll off the sofa. Livesey laughed and simply leaned back, using his body weight to hold her down. Della fought hard against him, but her bonds held fast and he restrained her with minimal effort. Finally, realizing the futility of her resistance, she collapsed back on the sofa, chest heaving as she pulled air into her lungs.

"Are you finished?" he asked.

Malevolence flamed in her eyes. He smiled humorlessly and released his hold on her legs.

.........................................................................................................................................................Then someone knocked on the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Perry waited for what seemed like a very long time at the door to Della's apartment. The longer he waited without an answer, the more his spirits deflated. According to his watch, he was punctual as ever, and he'd never known Della to be late. He knocked a forth time. The key to her apartment rested in his pants pocket - for emergencies - and he considered using it. On any other occasion he would have opened the door, walked in and made himself comfortable while he waited for her. Not this time. Not when he was as unsure about her feelings as he was now.

Even when dealing with the police or shady witnesses, Perry never experienced the feelings of hesitancy or insecurity that made his stomach churn as he waited outside Della's apartment. The thought that he'd made her angry, or, perhaps worse, disappointed in him, robbed the lawyer of his usual dauntless self-assurance. How could she so effortlessly achieve what countless prosecutors tried to do to him on a daily basis? And what if she'd changed her mind about dinner and came home later to find him sitting in her apartment, uninvited?

He pulled out his key case and regarded it thoughtfully. Then he made a decision.

* * *

The struggling figures on the sofa froze at the sound of the knock. Della recovered first and drew in a breath, intent on making any noise she could. Livesey came to life and once more gripped her around the neck. His eyes blazed with anger and fingers dug into her flesh, cutting off the air yet again.

Della pushed against Livesey as hard as she could. If she could make him fall off the couch, or hit the edge of the coffee table with his leg, anything - any commotion - would alert the visitor to the presence of someone inside. She prayed that Perry was the person tapping on her door. If he heard a sound, surely he would open the door and investigate.

Despite her efforts, Livesey planted his feet and refused to be moved. Hands tightened around her neck and by the time the second knock sounded, Della's strength waned and by the third knock she'd all but lost consciousness. She didn't even hear the fourth knock.

* * *

Perry exited Della's building and walked towards his car, planning to wait inside it for her to return. The small diner across the street caught his eye. He knew from experience that they served an excellent cup of coffee. Minutes later he sat in a booth with a view of the apartment building.

On a Friday evening a few months earlier, Perry and Della discussed their plans for the weekend as they closed up the office, he in hopes that there would be an opening to suggest they spend some time together. This diner, Della told him, made the world's best pancakes and her favorite weekend ritual involved eating breakfast and doing the newspaper crossword here on Saturday mornings.

Mason scoffed that there was no way the diner food could beat his homemade fare. She had laughingly suggested that he meet her there that Saturday and taste for himself. He agreed, adding that she could come to his place on Sunday morning and he would cook his version for her so she could judge which was truly better.

That breakfast date marked the first time they'd ever met, outside the office, for purely social reasons. They'd dined and danced together after work on occasions too numerous to count. But always as an afterthought to their professional activities. This was different - this was just for fun.

A smile brightened Perry's features as he remembered seeing her without high heels for the first time that morning. It surprised him how much shorter she seemed. The height difference exacerbated his feelings of protectiveness towards her, something he knew instinctively would irritate her, so he didn't mention it.

They lingered for hours that seemed like minutes over breakfast and coffee. Before leaving, he'd secured an agreement from her to come to his apartment the next day for round two of the pancake wars. Unfortunately, a case interfered and by the time Sunday morning rolled around, he was out chasing witnesses rather than home browning flapjacks.

Even though they missed breakfast together that day, she'd been to his apartment several times since then. She had a key to his, just like he did for hers. Unfortunately her visits always related to work - either they used his dining room table to go over paperwork and research strategy with Paul Drake or he'd sent her there alone to retrieve documents or to pack a bag with items he would need while out on a case. He'd never cooked a meal for her. She'd never come over just to drink his wine or listen to music, or to watch the flames dance in the fireplace. Employer and employee both seemed to hesitant to pursue the purely social aspects of their relationship. As long as the job provided a backdrop to their socializing, they were safer, somehow.

Perry was getting damn tired of a safer relationship.

Mason settled in to watch the comings and goings through the apartment doors. Lights began to flicker on in the windows of the apartment building. Counting up three floors and across four balconies, Mason found Della's apartment. Light filtered through the drapes of her living room window. It struck him as odd. 'Maybe she leaves a light burning all the time,' he reasoned. Certainly that was possible, given the frequency of unexpected late nights at the office. But somehow it didn't fit with his picture of Della - strong and independent. She didn't seem like the nightlight type.

* * *

Livesey waited as long as he dared before releasing his hold on his captive's throat. Adrenalin surged through his muscles and his heart raced. He had no compunction about killing the woman, but he wanted to finish what he'd started while she still lived. Color slowly began returning to her pale cheeks as he looked down at her face.

While Della was still unconscious, he crossed the room to the door of the apartment and checked the peephole. The hallway was deserted. Livesey released the breath he'd been holding and returned his attention to his prisoner.

Moments later her eyes flickered open. He watched the hope in them die as she focused on the face of her attacker. Then she kicked him.  
___________________________________________________________

"Cuppa coffee, hon?" the waitress asked, holding the coffee pot over Mason's empty cup.

"Yes, thank you. Just coffee," he replied, shifting his gaze briefly to the interior of the diner. Once she filled the cup, he returned his attention to the building outside the window. The waitress lingered at the edge of the booth for a moment, perhaps hoping for a lengthier conversation with the handsome, dark-eyed man. She wondered what had him so preoccupied. The tight-fitting uniform, which fell open so nicely when she leaned over a table, usually made initiating conversation with eligible male customers an easy thing. Not so with this one. She waited a moment longer, then moved on to the next booth.

The program playing on the diner's radio changed from music to news. Mason all but ignored it until the announcer mentioned a name he recognized.

* * *

Livesey crumpled.

He'd been standing over Della, looking down at her, distracted by her eyes and watching her register that no savior had come, despite the knocking on the door. While he studied her face, she brought her legs up and around and smashed into the side of his knee as hard as she could.

Unfortunately for Della, when Livesy fell, he landed right on top of her, knocking the wind out of her lungs. Livesey grappled with her briefly, then managed to hold her down with one hand and backhanded her across the cheek with the other. Briefly stunned, Della stopped fighting. Livesey sucked in air, breathing heavily; more from anger than exertion. Moments later Della twisted against the weight of his body and tried again to break free of him.

It was no use.  
____________________________________________________________

"...Frank Livesley, disappeared following a court hearing today in superior court. Under intensive questioning from defense attorney, Perry Mason, Mr. Livesey admitted to involvement in the murder. According to police sources, once the hearing adjourned, Livesey managed to slip out of the courtroom before the Court ordered him detained. Police have spread a dragnet across the city in hopes of capturing the fugitive before he can leave the county."

Perry listened intently, but the broadcast provided no additional information. He'd had no idea that Livesey had escaped. Taking another sip from his coffee cup, his eyes turned once more towards the door of the apartment building. Once the court hearing ended, Mason had been in a hurry to talk to Della and secure her promise for dinner tonight before he was completely mobbed by reporters. She agreed to the date his suggestion that he pick her up at her apartment at seven o'clock. The two of them left the courtroom together, but Mason stopped in the hallway to talk to the press. Livesey must have made good his escape at about the same time. Mason left the courthouse as quickly as he could after making a short statement to the reporters and checked in with the office briefly before going home, himself.

Now, as he replayed over the events of the afternoon in his mind, he leaned back in the booth and let his gaze drift to the side of the apartment building. A corner of the parking lot was visible from where he sat. As he stared, his eyes focused on a fender in the corner parking space. His eyebrows raised in surprise.


	5. Chapter 5

_Ok, I've had my fun. No more cliffhangers. :) Thanks for reading and especially thanks for the reviews!_

____________________________________________________________  
_

Della screamed one last time. The struggle was almost over. She'd fought as long and as hard as she could but it made no difference and her only course now was to submit. The gag in her mouth held fast and screams made very little noise. Her captor covered her body with his and simply waited for her to wear herself out. There wasn't any hurry. Della could barely breathe. She choked on her own tears.

Sensing her surrender, Livesey renewed his amorous exploration of the skin exposed to him since he'd opened her shirt. His mouth was hot and wet on her flesh. Lips moved down her chest, first kissing, then licking and sinking his teeth into her soft skin. Della fought for air. No energy left to struggle for freedom, she began to concentrate on survival. Somehow he had anticipated her every move and in some way countered them, masterfully manipulating her into exhaustion while exerting himself as little as possible. This obviously wasn't the first time he'd attacked a woman and he knew how to break her down, much as a cowboy might break a headstrong colt.

As she ceased straining against him, he stopped biting. Still his mouth continued its journey down to her lace-covered breasts.

Unexpectedly, he pulled away from her and sat up. Surprise materialized in her expression before he smirked and ran his hands up and down her torso then took hold of the last of the buttons that fastened her blouse. Slowly, carefully, he opened each one, exaggerating the care he took in pulling the shirt apart.

"No need to get sloppy," he told her. "I've got all the time in the world. I think we should take this slow, don't you?" He licked his lips and grabbed her shoulders, pushing the fabric back away from her skin, then ran his hands down her chest, over her breasts, across her midriff and around her hips. "Mmm," he moaned, stretching full length over her body once more. The hardness of his groin pressed into her abdomen. Della could feel the bile rising in her throat as he pushed against her, mimicking the act he would commit once the clothing separating their bodies had been removed.

Teardrops balanced precariously on the ends of her lashes, then fell, unimpeded. "Don't cry, baby. We're just getting to the good part!" Laughing at his own joke, he wiped the tears from the sides of her face.

When he released her face, he slid his hands under the material of her skirt, pushing it up her legs, slowly revealing inch after inch of creamy skin to his probing fingers. Della cringed as he touched her thigh. She turned her face into the couch cushion. Despite her innate courage, she couldn't handle this - her mind refused to be a part of it.

* * *

The fender belonged to Della's car – Mason felt almost certain of it. Getting to his feet, he moved to the other end of the diner where he had a better view of the parking lot. Sure enough, the sporty coupe occupying the end space was Della's. Mason stared at it for a long moment, then reached for his wallet and moved thoughtfully to the cash register where he paid his bill.

She could've walked to wherever she went. Of course she could have. But did she?

Out on the curb, waiting for the light to change, Mason glanced up at her window again. Something moved. A shadow on the blinds. Someone was in there. Maybe it was Della. Maybe she was angrier than he thought. She could be avoiding him by simply refusing to answer the door. But would she?

The light changed and Mason stepped out onto the pavement. Halfway across the street, the announcer's voice sounded in his head again. 'Livesey escapes.' What did it matter? The man had no connection to them now. It didn't mean anything that Livesey's escape happened at about the same time Della left the courthouse. Did it?

The shaded window drew Mason's eye once more. Nothing moved. The shadow he'd seen had been bulky. A trick of the light perhaps? Or was it someone other than Della?

Livesey was bulky - bordering on being overweight.

The visits Livesey made to his office flashed through the lawyer's mind. He'd ignored the looks and leers Livesey gave Della. Assuming Livesey was just another man who considered his secretary a part of the office décor, Mason had been too busy to pay attention to Della's assessment of his character. There was something different – unsettling – about the man. And Della had known it from the first. She knew how to handle unwanted attention, but Livesey obviously unnerved her. Della didn't scare easily. But the way Livesey looked at her...

In his mind's eye, Mason saw the look on Livesey's face as he left the witness stand that afternoon. It was venemous, murderous. And it hadn't been directed entirely at him.

Mason broke into a run and sprinted the last few feet to the apartment building. The outer door locked automatically. He jabbed repeatedly on random intercom buttons. Someone answered the buzzer just as the door opened and a couple exited the lobby. Not bothering to reply to the call, Mason slipped through the open door and covered the lobby in a few long strides, catching the elevator just before the doors closed.

* * *

Della turned her face deeper into the couch cushion. She felt as if she were falling into a deep black pit. Helplessness weighted her arms and legs. She couldn't move, she tried not to feel. Sounds seemed magnified and she heard him grunt as he began to tug at his belt, pulling it free of his pants. Burrowing deeper into the sofa cushion caused the tape covering her mouth to pull on the nubby upholstery. Her tears had saturated the tape, loosening it somewhat. Intent on his task, Livesey didn't notice her rubbing her cheek back and forth against the sofa fabric.

* * *

The elevator ride was the longest Perry Mason ever experienced. Each passing second strengthened the gut feeling he had that something was wrong. Something was wrong in Della's apartment.

* * *

The tape gave way. Della sucked in air.

* * *

Freed from the steel cage, Mason ran down the hall.

* * *

Livesey felt the movement beneath him. He stopped fumbling with their clothing long enough to look up at her face.

* * *

Mason raised his hand, planning to pound on the door until someone opened it or he broke it down.

* * *

Della screamed for help.

* * *

Mason froze for a split second, then lowered he shoulder and threw his weight against the wooden barrier.

* * *

Face purple with rage, Livesey clamped a hand over Della's mouth. She bit him as hard as she could, flinching at the coppery taste of his blood. He yelped in pain and surprise as the sound of something crashing against the entrance reverberated through the apartment. Livesey whirled and ran for the door.

* * *

The door held fast.

Mason backed up and threw his body weight, this time coupled with momentum, against the wood. The frame shattered and the lock broke free. Mason burst through the opening and into the room. Head lowered, Livesey ran at him, as if to bulldoze his way through the lawyer and out into the hallway. With the quick grace of a prize-fighter, Mason sidestepped the attack, grabbing Livesey by the shirt and throwing him to the ground. There was just enough time to scan the room for Della before Livesey was back on his feet. He'd barely processed the sight of his secretary, bound and gagged, when Livesey gained his feet and swung wildly. Mason easily deflected the blow with his left arm and followed with a hard right punch to the face. Livesey yelped and Mason could feel the cartilage flattening under his hand. The would-be rapist dropped to his knees and Mason caught him with a well placed kick to the solar plexus, then knocked him over backwards with a final, crushing, uppercut to the chin. Livesey was out cold.

The sound of the commotion brought Della's next door neighbor out into the hallway. Mason yelled for someone to call the police and an ambulance, then turned his attention to Della.

Propped up on her elbows, Della watched the scene, wide-eyed, her chest heaving from the adrenalin that still pumped through her system. When Livesey hit the ground and didn't get up again, she closed her eyes and dropped her head and shoulders back onto the couch, relief flooding her body, much as the adrenalin had done.

Perry Mason called her name as he reached for her. He finished removing the gag from her mouth and she opened her eyes.

"Did he hurt you? Are you alright?" he asked, his voice choking with emotion. Mason touched face, threaded his fingers through her hair and down over her neck and shoulders, searching for injuries. She winced as his fingers brushed the darkening bruise on her cheek.

Not yet trusting her voice, she merely nodded, then sat up and turned slightly so he could untie the ropes holding her arms. Joints, finally free from the strain of being bound, screamed in protest and she couldn't quite stifle a cry of pain. Still kneeling at her side, Mason began to rub his hands up and down her arms, helping to restore circulation. Della swallowed and manged a hoarse "My legs...", directing Mason to the remaining restraints. Within moments he freed her from the last of the bonds.

Della swung her legs off the couch and began to work at the buttons of her shirt with fumbling fingers. Tears of frustration quivered at the corners of her eyes. Large warm hands closed over hers. Perry looked up at her, the question written in his eyes. She took a breath and nodded in response. Carefully he re-buttoned the blouse, pausing as he reached the top button to run his fingers lightly over the skin of her neck. Dark bruises were forming there as well.

"My God, Della," he whispered. "I'm so sorry." His voice was tight with remorse and worry.

She didn't meet his gaze and instead looked past him to the entrance of her apartment. "Perry!"

Startled into movement by her outcry, Mason whipped around in time to catch Livesey's flying tackle with a shoulder block. Livesey, still somewhat dazed from the earlier beating, fell to the ground.

"You goddamn sonofabitch!" Mason growled as he reached down and dragged the other man to his feet. Livesey took a half-hearted swing just as the lawyer jabbed with his left, then finished with a vicious right hook to the temple. Livesey hit the ground again and Mason lashed out at him with a savage kick to his kidneys. "You move again and I'll snap your damn neck," Mason snarled.

Running feet sounded in the hallway and two uniformed officers appeared in the doorway. They took in the scene and the younger of the two drew his firearm, but couldn't make up his mind who to point it at. Mason glared at them. "This man attacked Miss Street. You've been looking for him – Frank Livesy. Get him out of my sight or he's not going to live to stand trial."


	6. Chapter 6

The older officer recognized the lawyer. "We're on it, Mr. Mason." He turned to his partner, who was holstering his weapon. "Get the cuffs on him, Jake."

"Where is that ambulance?" Mason demanded.

"Should be right behind us."

Mason nodded grimly and turned back to Della, who was now on her feet, alternately rubbing her chaffed wrists. When he reached her side, he put his arm around her shoulders, only to discover that she was shaking all over. His arms offered comfort, but she seemed almost repulsed by the touch. As the police attended to their captive, Mason gently guided Della to an arm chair. "Just sit down for a minute, Della. I'm going to get you a drink," he told her softly.

She took the glass he offered moments later and swallowed the scotch. It burned her already raw throat and she began to cough. Mason knelt next to the chair and rubbed her back. "Where's the ambulance, damn it?!" he barked over his shoulder. Just then two paramedics appeared in the doorway, carrying a stretcher and their medical kits. "Over here!" Mason ordered and moved back to give them room to examine Della.

One of the men stopped to administer first aid to the prisoner and the other supplanted Mason at Della's side. The police officers pulled Mason's attention away with a request for information. Reluctantly, Mason followed the officer out into the hallway to answer questions. Explaining the situation as quickly as possible, he glossed over his reasons for suspecting something was wrong in Della's apartment, prior to her scream. He didn't completely understand that himself. The officers had more questions, but Perry Mason was done giving answers. He left the investigator in the hallway and returned to Della's side.

Della was still seated in the chair, but she now held a cold compress to the bruise on her cheek. The paramedic stood behind her, examining the bump on the back of her head. He glanced briefly at the approaching lawyer, then told his patient, "You'll have to stay in the hospital overnight for observation, but you can probably be released sometime tomorrow."

Della shook her head. "I'm fine. I'm not going to the hospital."

"They need to make sure you're alright, Del," Perry said quietly. "It's just for one night."

Della stood abruptly and thrust the cold compress back into the paramedic's hands. Only Mason noticed the slight unsteadiness in her movements. "I'm not going to be poked and prodded any more tonight," she declared. "I'll go see my own doctor tomorrow if I have to, but I'm not going to the hospital."

The medic opened his mouth and began to protest, but Della ignored him completely. She glared at Mason, her expression betraying her stubbornness as she side-stepped the paramedic and headed for her bedroom. Mason sighed. He knew that look and knew that there was no arguing with her once she'd made up her mind like this. The medic tried to follow, still entreating Della to come down to the ambulance with him, but Mason caught hold of the man's arm. "Forget it," he told him. "She's not going and there's nothing you and I can do about it, unless you're prepared to manhandle her out of here."

"She's had a concussion. She needs close observation for at least the next twelve hours in case there are complications."

"I'll make sure she's not left alone. What do I need to watch out for?" Mason asked. The paramedic gave him a crash course in the care of concussive injury and within a short time the apartment emptied out. Livesey had not regained consciousness before they hauled him away on a stretcher. The patrolmen finished their initial investigation. The older officer had returned to the apartment after leaving his partner to accompany the ambulance to the hospital. He motioned for Mason to join him in the hallway while the building maintenance supervisor surveyed the damaged doorway.

"I thought you'd want to know, Mr. Mason, that you just collared the Palmdale Rapist! Just got the news over the radio. Officers searched Livesey's house when they tried to serve the arrest warrant, and they found evidence showing that's he's the rapist we've been trying to catch for the past year!" the officer said, excitement quickening his voice.

"Good God," Mason breathed. He glanced back into the apartment, concern etched on his features.

"Yeah, thank God you got here when you did, Mr. Mason," the officer said, clapping the lawyer enthusiastically on her shoulder. The lawyer shrugged him off and didn't reply.

"I know you'll probably want to get Miss Street out of here. I just wanted to give you a heads up that reporters are already gathering in the lobby. Photographers, too. They monitor the police bands on the radio and can get to a scene almost as quickly as we do. I can keep them off the residential floors, but you might want to sneak out a back way before things get too hot here." The officer grinned at the lawyer. "They saw Livesey being hauled off. Evidently the idea of you catching this guy on your own and working him over for trying to assault your secretary is going to make for some good copy."

Mason cursed under his breath and thanked the officer for his warning. As he re-entered the apartment through the ruined doorway, the super advised him that he couldn't fix it until the next day. "I'll just have to nail a piece of ply wood over the opening and get the supplies to rebuild it tomorrow."

"I'll have Miss Street to pack a bag and we'll get out of here in a few minutes," Mason replied. Headed towards the bedroom, he paused when he heard movement from the kitchen. He crossed to the swinging door and pushed it open to find Della rummaging in her refrigerator, pulling out random ingredients, evidently intending to prepare dinner. Mason watched her for a moment.

"What exactly are you planning on cooking, Della?" he asked. "You've got milk, celery, cheese and a package of hot dogs."

Della didn't look at him, but closed the refrigerator and began to peruse the shelf of the open cabinet next to it. "I'm just going to eat something, then go to bed. You don't have to stay," she said pointedly.

Mason sighed. "The super needs us out of here so he can board up the door until he can get the repairs completed tomorrow."

Della closed her eyes in frustration and leaned back against the counter. She reached up with both hands and began to rub her temples.

Perry reached across the space between them and laid a hand on her shoulder. She drew away from him and turned to look out the window over the sink. "Please, Della," he said softly. "You can't stay here and unless you want me to drag you to a hospital for the night, you can't stay alone either. If we leave now, we can beat most of the press. You can come home with me and relax. It will be ok."

She turned on him, anger flaring in her eyes. "Easy for you to say," she snapped, sarcasm making her normally silky voice harsh. He recoiled, almost as if she'd slapped him. Hurt clouded his eyes for a heart beat as he met her gaze. After a moment's hesitation he spoke, his voice quieter than normal. "I deserve that. And worse."

Before she could reply, there was a knock at the kitchen door. The maintenance man stuck his head in and inquired if they would be much longer. He wanted to finish up his work. Mason glanced questioningly at Della Street. She nodded resignedly.

"Give us ten minutes," Mason told the other man. The super nodded and left them alone.

Perry Mason regarded his secretary for a long moment. She met his eyes somewhat warily. "Why don't you pack a bag and I'll put these things away," he said, indicating the food on the counter. "Then we can get out of here and you can rest."

Della nodded. "Perry, I'm sorry -."

Mason interrupted her, shaking his head. "You have nothing to apologize for, Della. But please, let's just leave before we have to fight off every reporter in town. We'll talk later, alright?" Della took a deep breath and nodded her acquiescence.

Within 15 minutes, lawyer and secretary made their way down to the ground floor in the service elevator. The maintenance man unlocked a back door that opened directly into the parking lot, not far from Della's car. The reporters, keeping watch on the main elevator and noting that the lawyer's big convertible remained parked at the curb, didn't see the couple make their escape.

The drive to Perry Mason's apartment was relatively quick and completed in silence. Della leaned back in the seat with her eyes closed. Mason, unsure whether or not she was asleep, kept quiet. Once inside his apartment, he suggested she take a hot bath while he prepared dinner. She nodded, somewhat dispiritedly, and took her bag from him, then headed for the bathroom.

The bathroom opened off of Perry's sumptuous bedroom. It was built on a large scale, like the man himself, and smelled slightly of his favorite aftershave. Della set her overnight case on the counter and studied her reflection in the mirror. Dark circles that didn't have anything to do with the bruises had formed under her eyes. Somewhat taken aback at the haggard face she saw reflected there, she wasted no time in running a hot bath.

The tub was deep and took some time to fill. By the time she settled into the water and turned off the faucets, she could faintly hear noises coming from the kitchen as well as soft strains of music from Perry's radio. Della listened for a moment, then sunk down below the level of the water. When she pulled herself back up, she hugged her knees to her chest, dropped her head to her knees and finally gave in to the tears she'd been holding back with the last shreds of her composure.

* * *

Perry Mason paced the floor of his living room, checking and re-checking his watch. Della had been in the bath for a long time -too long. Her concussion had him worried, but he was completely unsure what he should do. She probably needed some space and wouldn't at all appreciate an interruption from him. On the other hand, how long could a bath possibly take? What if she'd passed out?

Finally he heard the bathroom door open. He breathed a sigh of relief. Moments later Della, clad in a pair of simple pajamas and his own heavy terry cloth robe, entered the room. She appeared somewhat nervous as she ran a hand through her damp curls.

"You mentioned food?" she said.

Mason smiled fondly at her and gestured towards the kitchen.

"I'm sorry about taking your robe, but I didn't bring one," she said as she followed him into the kitchen where the small table in the breakfast nook was set for two.

"Don't worry about it," he said, glancing over his shoulder at her. "You do look a little lost in it, though."

She looked down at the robe which reached almost to the floor. "I thought I'd never get the sleeves rolled up far enough." Mason chuckled. Della slid into the banquet as Perry placed a steaming bowl of soup in front of her.

"Is soup and sandwiches ok? I didn't know how hungry you were," he said as he finished assembling their sandwiches at the counter.

"It's fine," she said quietly. The hot soup felt good as it slipped down her raw throat, warming her inside much as the bath had outside. She inhaled deeply. "This is wonderful. Old family recipe?"

"Old army recipe," Mason said and finally sat down across from her, attacking his own bowl.

They ate in silence for several minutes. Eventually Della laid down her spoon and napkin. "That was really good." A corner of her mouth turned up as she looked across the table at Mason. "Thank you."

He smiled at her briefly, then dropped his eyes and studied the tabletop. The silence between them became uncomfortable. Della made a movement as if to leave the table, but Perry reached out and gently held her wrist. "This was my fault, Della. I want you to know I realize what a fool I've been and that it could've cost you...your life." He finally looked up at her and she was surprised to see tears in his eyes. "You tried to tell me. You knew what that bastard was capable of. I just didn't listen. If I had..." His voice trailed off and he swallowed hard.

Della didn't speak for a long moment. "That's quite a leap of logic, even for you. You could never have anticipated this, Perry."

"Maybe not, but if I'd paid attention, he would have gone to jail sooner and would never have had the opportunity to hurt you." He reached out and brushed his hand down the unbruised side of her face. "Next time I'll listen. I promise."

Della pulled away, sitting back in her chair. She picked up her napkin and pulled it back and forth through her fingers. She started to say something but stopped. Mason waited expectantly across the table from her.

"You're good at solving puzzles, Perry." Della met his eyes across the table and he could see both pain and anger in her expression. "There is one that you haven't solved yet. If you don't solve it, I don't think things can continue between us."

* * *

_AN: That's not a cliffhanger, right? You know what she wants to talk about. :) _

_Happy Birthday, Barbara Hale!_


	7. Chapter 7

Mason raised his eyebrows in surprise. "What puzzle?"

"We're the puzzle. You have to figure out how you're going to handle our relationship, whatever that is."

Mason dropped his head and ran his hands roughly through his hair. "You're wrong Della. There is no puzzle."

"No? Then why is it you pull me in - telling me how important I am to you and then, just when I think maybe we can make this work, you shut me out, push me away?"

He shook his head. "That was never my intention. I didn't even realize that I'd done that until the end of the trial." They were silent for a breath, then he looked up at her. "I've always been alone, Della. It's what I wanted. Until you came into my life. The feelings I have for you - I want to make things permanent between us. Marriage seemed like the perfect solution. It never occurred to me that it might not be right for you. When you turned me down, I didn't know where to go from there, so I backed off. I needed some time to sort things out."

"So you closed me out? What was I supposed to do? Just sit in a corner somewhere waiting on you to decide where we stand?" Her eyes flashed. "That's not fair, Perry."

"I know," he said.

"You know why I can't marry you. You said you understood, and that you didn't want things to change between us. And yet here we are, playing these games." Getting to her feet, Della put her palms flat on the table top and leaned in close to him. "I'm not going to play anymore." She left the room.

"Damn it all to hell," he whispered. For several minutes he sat still and silent, then followed her into the living room. Della was standing next to the mantle, staring into the darkened fireplace. No doubt she sensed his presence, but she didn't move as he came up behind her. Pent up emotion was evident in the tight lines of her back and shoulders, as well as the firm set of her jaw-line. He reached out and touched her arm.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

Shaking her head she turned to face him. "This is my fault as much as yours. It's not a good idea for us to be...involved, or whatever we are." Her voice caught in her throat. "I knew better than to fall for you. It won't ever work, Perry. I should go back to being just your secretary - nothing more.

"I'm good at that," she continued. "It's what I do best. I need to go back to it and forget about the rest of it." The cold hearth claimed her gaze once more. "If...If you need to find someone to love, then do it. With my blessing. We'd still be able to work together – no strings. Like we've always done."

Perry, slack-jawed with disbelief, stared at her profile.

"Find someone? Find someone!" His voice rose. "Have you lost your --" He stopped abruptly. When he spoke again his voice was more calm. "Being a secretary is not your best talent, you know."

She glanced at him, a sharp reply dying on her lips as she registered the expression on his face.

"First of all," he said with a droll grin, "kissing is your best talent. Absolutely. Undeniably. I hate to say it, but your secretarial skills can't hold a candle to your expertise with a lip lock." Della smiled in spite of herself. "Secondly, I'm not in the market for female companionship. In the past I've dated a lot of beautiful women - women I've enjoyed and hopefully the feeling was mutual. But I never wanted to be tied down with a home and family. Then you came along and I found myself thinking seriously about the rest of my life. For the first time, my future was about more than just me. I wanted to do things right and getting married seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Mostly, I didn't want you to think this was some trivial affair. There is nothing trivial or insignificant about my feelings for you.

"Don't you get it, Della? It's not about following the conventions. I don't give a damn about society or propriety or any of that. I just want to find a way to be with you all the time. Don't you understand? You don't have to marry me. I'd like you to, but all I'm really asking is for you to be with me. Forever."

Della took a step back, needing distance from the piercing blue eyes that were boring into hers, demanding everything and nothing all at once. "I want that too, Perry, but just wanting it is not enough to make it work. If things went wrong between us... Isn't a working relationship better than no relationship at all?" She looked at him imploringly. "I don't want to lose you --not completely. Can't we just go back to the way things were before?"

Moving closer, he placed both his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. He smiled wearily. "That's just not possible, Della. Don't ask me to find some way to 'un-love' you. That's like asking me to stop breathing. Instead of worrying about what might go wrong, can't you trust me - trust yourself - to find a way for us to be together?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but he stopped her with a finger to her lips. "Give me a chance, Del. Don't run away from this." His fingertip caressed the fullness of her lower lip. "We have a future, Della. That doesn't mean we won't ever have problems or arguments, but it means that I will love you no matter what." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Let me love you."

She closed her eyes. "I'm scared of what could happen – what it will cost us if it doesn't work."

Placing his hands on both sides of her face, Perry waited for her to look at him again. Eventually she did and his gaze locked onto hers. "Living – making decisions based on fear," he hesitated, "is no way to truly live."

Looking into his eyes, she could almost feel the force of his will pulling at her walls, pushing at her defenses. The only choice offered her was surrender – sweet surrender. "Alright," she said softly. "I'll try."

Mason smiled down at her and reached for her hands. Bringing them to his lips, he pressed a kiss to each of her fingers in turn. He was thrilled to see her smile in return. When he released her hands, he circled her waist with his arms, pulling her gently towards him. She hesitated briefly, then relaxed against him, head coming to rest on his shoulder. Although he ached with need for her, Perry simply held her close, whispering endearments as he stroked her hair and cradled her body against his own.

Safe in the embrace, Della relaxed even further, all but falling asleep on her feet after a while. Mason chuckled low in his chest. "Let's get you in bed, darling. Before you pass out on me. You're sleeping in my bed tonight."

Della mumbled something unintelligible into his chest, then pulled away a bit. Sensing her protest, he said "No arguments, Miss Street. The ambulance driver said I have to wake you up every couple of hours or so to make sure you're ok. Therefore, I'm going to sleep on the couch, so I don't fall into a deep sleep. You, on the other hand, need to rest as much as possible. So, you're sleeping in the bed and I'll sleep in here."

A heavy yawn stifled any further protest. It wasn't late, but exhaustion, both mental and physical, had set in. Della followed Mason into his bedroom where he turned down the bed. "The cleaning lady came today, so the sheets have been changed," he explained. Della nodded and sat on the edge of the bed, still yawning, while Mason fluffed pillows and continued to hover over her.

"I like firm pillows, so I hope these will be alright for you. If you're not comfortable, let me know and I'll get something else. Maybe one of the cushions from the couch?"

Della smiled and shook her head. "This will be fine, Perry, really." She gestured towards the head of the bed where he was still trying to arrange things to perfection. "Are you going to keep that up all night or are you going to actually let me use the pillows?"

Mason chuckled and stepped back from the bed. "Sorry. I'll let you sleep. Just promise me you'll let me know if you need anything."

"I promise." She stood up, by the side of the bed, a hand on the knotted belt of her robe. Sensing she was waiting on him to leave, Mason leaned in and brushed a quick kiss across the corner of her mouth, then left the room. He'd not even made it back to the living room before he turned on his heel and was knocking on the bedroom door.

"Yes?" Della said, not opening the door.

"I forgot, I have to wake you. Every hour or so. Because of the concussion. Is that going to be alright? If not, I guess I can set an alarm clock for you or something?" he asked, his voice tentative.

She didn't answer, but in a few moments the door opened halfway. He forced his eyes stay locked on her face, although his peripheral vision registered the fact that the soft cotton pajamas did little to hide the curves of her figure.

"Stop worrying, Perry." She gave him a rueful smile. "I won't lock the door." Then she slowly closed him out of the room. He stared somewhat wistfully at the closed door for a few moments after the latch clicked into place, then headed for the couch.

* * *

Something – maybe a dream, maybe a noise - startled Della into wide-eyed wakefulness sometime in the early morning hours. She felt sore all over. Perry's bed was soft and luxuriant, but it wasn't the same as being at home, safe in her own bed. 'Safe at home?' She groaned softly at the thought and turned over on her side, gathering her body into a ball around one of the extra pillows. Would she ever feel safe at home again?

That thought brought fresh tears to her eyes, but she wiped them away before they could fall. No one - not Livesey, not anyone - was going to take away her independence. She hugged the pillow tighter.

Independence, self-reliance - those were qualities she'd always considered important. Life had taught her that she couldn't depend on others for her well-being or happiness. It was up to her. And she'd been doing a pretty good job of taking care of herself. Until yesterday.

Della took a deep, shuddering breath. How could she have been so stupid not to check to make sure the door had locked behind her? How could she have failed to notice that there was someone else in the apartment? Livesey's attack took her so totally by surprise that she never even had a chance to resist. What if Perry hadn't come back when he did? What if...? She buried her face in the pillow and fought to block out the memories of the assault. Lying alone in the darkness, she relived Frank Livesey's hands roaming her body, touching her wherever and how ever he pleased. She could still feel his weight on her chest and his mouth on her skin.

Unable to shut her mind off and desperate to escape the theater of her thoughts, Della climbed out of bed and reached for Perry's robe. The clock on the bedside table showed 4:30 a.m. Perry had last woken her at 2:00 a.m. Cold, irrational fear suddenly gripped her. He had been waking her every two hours to check on her. What happened?

She reached for the bedroom door and flung it open. She could see down the short hallway and into the living room. Her heart stopped pounding almost as quickly as it had begun. Perry slept on the sofa, just where he'd said he would be. Della crept down the hallway and into the other room.

Perry was stretched out down the length of the sofa. He'd removed his jacket and tie when they first arrived at the apartment, but now he'd taken off his shirt as well. It was tossed over the back of the sofa and his shoes were kicked under the coffee table. His arms, now bare, were crossed tightly over his chest as if he were cold. The thin material of the undershirt he wore accentuated, rather than concealed the cut of his upper body. He gave a soft snore and seemed to pull his arms closer across his torso.

Della glanced around the room for a blanket or throw of some kind but found nothing. She returned to the bedroom and removed the blanket and bedspread from the bed. Once back in the living room she spread the blanket out over the sleeping lawyer, careful not to wake him. Sleep had now fled from her, so she wrapped the bedspread around herself and claimed a seat in the chair closest to the couch, curling her legs underneath her.

The sound of a clock ticking in the darkness kept time with Della's heartbeat. Settling deeper in the cushions of the chair, she studied her companion. His face lost some of its granite-hard definition when he slept. He seemed younger, less imposing. The burly teenager that he had been became visible in the softened lines of his face and his tousled hair. As she watched, he nestled down into the cushions, turned on his side and pulled the blanket up over his shoulder.

Just being here with him calmed her fears. Even in sleep he was powerful. She trusted him. Della knew that she could have this closeness, this protection, always, if she agreed to his marriage proposal. But that would mean giving up a part of herself and changing her life completely. Once they married, he'd treat her differently. She had no doubt of that. Gone would be the long days of working by his side and sharing in his quest. He'd want her safe and sound at home, tucked in an ivory tower somewhere. The closer they became, the more she could see signs of that protectiveness in him. If they were married, those tendencies would solidify and she'd be locked away some where, something pretty on a shelf, to be taken down and enjoyed when he needed to unwind or recover.

No doubt he was sincere when he said he loved her. Perry Mason was not the type to make that claim lightly. But Della didn't want to live in a cage, no matter how beautifully gilded. She had to maintain her self - her separation from him. There was no other way for her to survive this relationship.

No other way.

Her head hurt. She didn't want to think, or to feel. Instead, she concentrated on Perry's breathing, matching her own to the rhythm of his. Eventually her eyes drifted shut and she slept.

* * *

Sunlight filtered through the curtains. The warmth of the light registered on his eyes before he opened them. A forearm draped over his eyes to shut out the brightness and he considered going back to sleep. Then he remembered.

Eyes open, he sat up and threw off the blanket, halfway off the couch when saw Della sleeping in the chair next to him. His breath caught in his throat as he focused on her. She seemed to be sleeping peacefully, snuggled into the depths of the chair. He knew he should wake her, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead he stood and stretched, flexing the muscles in his arms and legs. Careful not to disturb her, he headed for the bathroom, took a quick shower and dressed. Then he went into the kitchen, shutting the door softly behind him.

As he gathered the ingredients for breakfast - the pancakes he still owed Della - he hummed quietly to himself. Eventually he switched on the small radio on the counter, keeping the volume low as he dropped bacon in a skillet and mixed batter. The bacon sizzled unattended for a few movements while the news announcer gave the sketchy details of Franklin Livesey's capture from the night before. A sigh of annoyance escaped his lips when the announcer noted that Livesey had been recaptured by none other than famed defense attorney Perry Mason, who'd surprised the fugitive during an attack on his secretary, Della Street, at Miss Street's apartment.

Perry hadn't heard the kitchen door open. He returned his attention to his cooking.

"That's just wonderful." Della's voice had a caustic edge to it. "So now I have my own scarlet letter. V for victim." She turned on her heel and slammed the kitchen door behind her. Mason sat aside the batter bowl and fumbled with the controls on the stove.

"Della?" he called after her. He found her, still wrapped in the blanket, staring out the window at the city beyond. He took hold of her shoulders. "Del?" he said softly.

She whirled on him and he saw anger flash in her eyes where he'd expected tears. "Maybe we ought to call the papers and let them take photos of these bruises, too? Or would they like some sort of a statement about how it feels to have some sick freak's hands all over your body? I'd hate to miss an opportunity to be the lead on the evening news."

Taking an involuntary step back, he hesitated, speechless, for half a beat. She stared at him for that moment, bitterness and anger apparent in her expression. Then she shook her head and brushed past him, out of the room.

He caught her arm. "Please wait." His expression was wary, his eyes suspiciously moist. "I'm so sorry. You--."

"Let me go!" she raged at him. He immediately dropped his hand. She stormed off, but paused in the hallway door and drew in a deep breath. "I don't mean to be angry with you. What happened wasn't your fault. I...I need you but I can't handle your guilt over this." Then she was gone, and the bedroom door slammed shut behind her.

Perry Mason stared after her, mouth slightly open as if he were about to speak. "Damn it, Mason," he mumbled to himself and rubbed a hand roughly across his face. He crossed the room and stopped outside the bedroom.

"Della?" he asked, tapping a knuckle against the door. The situation reminded him of standing outside her apartment the night before, wandering why she didn't answer the door even as she fought an attacker on the other side. "Please don't shut me out." His kept his voice quiet and even, although he fought the need to break the door down.

To his immense relief, this time was different. This time she opened the door after the first knock and glared out at him. Anger was a good sign - better than tears, he hoped. He stepped away from the door, giving her space. Her expression softened somewhat. Taking that as encouragement, Mason grinned at her. "Well, Hester, I'll help you sew the letters on your clothes, but how about some breakfast first? I'm making the world's best pancakes."

She ducked her head, and Mason thought he saw laughter in her eyes. After a moment's silence, she crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe. "Second best," she said.

Mason's smile widened and he shook his head. "Never second best." He reached out and brushed an errant curl back behind her ear. Suddenly he found himself unable to meet her eyes and when he spoke, his voice cracked with emotion. "Only the best for you."

Della looked up at him and smiled. He held his arms out to her and she stepped into his caress, allowing him to draw her in close. Slowly, purposefully, he kissed her. The kiss deepened and he could feel tears on his cheek. Not entirely sure if they were hers or his, Perry pulled away slightly.

"Don't let me go," she pleaded. He tightened his arms and crushed her to his chest. Della clung to him, and what had started as a small trail of tears became soft sobbing. He could feel her trembling as she held him tightly. Perry leaned back against the door frame, allowing her to rest against him, taking her pain and weight onto himself as much as he could. Della cried quietly, given vent to the emotions she'd tried to keep under control for the last few hours. Perry made no move, no sound, but reveled in her nearness - the reality of her - and contemplated what had happened, what could have happened.

He had no idea how long they stood there, how long he held her, but eventually the tears ran their course. Something subtle shifted between them and the touch that had been merely comforting moments earlier slowly evolved into something more heated. Perry felt her move in his arms and suddenly she was pressed more fully against him. His body began to react.

Della lifted her face to him. His worried eyes searched hers. Despite the redness the tears left behind, her eyes were clear, purposeful, intent. With a delicious slowness he bent his head to hers. He could feel the warmth of the connection even before their lips touched.

The kiss was soft - a sweetness that hinted at something more. Perry pulled away, intending to check her reaction - to make sure he'd not misread her intentions. He opened his mouth to ask her if she was truly prepared for the intimacy they both craved. His mouth over-rode his mind and he simply said "I love you."

Her answer was to strain against him, reaching up and capturing his lips once more. This time the kiss burned. White hot desire incinerated any hesitation as their bodies connected. Mason groaned low in his throat as she moved against him. Every touch, every kiss, kindled new fires. He held her as tightly as he dared, but it wasn't nearly close enough. His body demanded more. He needed more. He wanted to give her more.

As his lips followed the line of her jaw down to the soft skin of her throat, she spoke his name, her voice breaking.

He froze, worried that he'd taken things too far. Doing his best to make some space between them, he said, "Are you alright, Della?"

Her eyes were closed as she nodded. He waited. After a moment, she opened her eyes. When she spoke her voice was a satiny whisper. "I need you. I don't want to feel him - his hands, his body." She reached up and took his face in her hands. "I want you."

Mason captured her hands and kissed each palm in turn, never moving his eyes from hers. "Then come with me, baby. Let's make some memories."

Bodies already intertwined, they stumbled together towards the bed. Each struggled to free themselves from their clothing without breaking contact with the other. They fell on the tangled sheets, both surrendering to the fierceness of their craving and at last free to explore the hunger they felt for each other.

Finally, breathing heavily, Mason paused his exploration of Della's body. He lifted himself on his elbows and looked down into her face. For the first time he really saw the extent of her injuries - bite marks and bruises on her throat, her chest, her arms. He touched his hand to the side of her face. The compassion in his touch triggered moisture to pool in her eyes, and it threaten to spill over her lashes.

She turned her head to look away.

"New memories, baby. All new," he said softly. She turned back towards him. "You're beautiful," he murmured as he looked down at her. He bent his head to hers once more and trailed a string of fiery kisses down her neck to the hollow of her throat, then lower, between her breasts.

Words were no longer sufficient. Della moaned and arched into his touch.

Tears, shame and terror were all erased.

For the moment.

_AN: Epilogue to follow.__  
_


	8. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

The phone rang a third time. Della's 'Hello!' was slightly breathless.

"Almost done?" Perry Mason asked.

"Almost. How about you?"

"The hearing is over. It ran a little longer than I expected, but I think we've made a good case. The judge promised to have a ruling by the end of next week."

"Uh-hmm." She sounded distracted.

"Judge Harkins asked me several questions on the brief we submitted. Evidently he studied it pretty carefully."

"That's good."

Perry chuckled into the phone. "It sounds like you're much more interested in him than me."

Della's silky voice dropped a notch. "That's because he's here with me, sweating and straining... And you're not."

"Give me ten minutes, baby. I'll be there."

She laughed, low and throaty - a sound that always made him think of something steamy and sweet. "It won't be closing time for a few more hours yet. And besides I've got a few things to finish before the movers get here. Why don't you answer some of that mail you've no doubt left on the desk and come see me when you're done?"

He groaned. "Slave driver!"

She laughed again and hung up the phone.

Mason frowned accusingly at the pile of letters that were indeed waiting at the corner of his desk. Rather than reaching for them, he took out his wallet and removed a business card. He dialed the number on the card, and after a brief conversation, finally directed his attention to his delinquent correspondence.

Perry Mason gave the elevator operator his destination, and rode in silence. It had been almost two months since the attack on Della. She spent the first few nights after the assault at his apartment, in his bed. He held her while she fought battles in her nightmares. Then she'd squared her shoulders, steeled her resolve and gone back home.

She tried to convince him everything was alright, but Perry, knowing her better than most, could tell she wasn't sleeping well. Eventually she admitted she just hated being in her apartment, but she wouldn't give up her life and her independence to the likes of Frank Livesey.

After a few weeks Della decided to move. New surroundings would do wonders for her sense of wellbeing, she decided. Perry tried again to convince her to marry him, or at least move in with him. He ached to protect her, to help her overcome the dark fear that still lurked around the edges of her mind.

Each time he brought it up, however, she refused, holding fast to her contention that she would lose him if she married him. Perry didn't agree, but even his best arguments proved ineffective.

After laughingly rejecting his suggestion that she at least move into an apartment in his building, they began a search in earnest and soon found her a new home. The building was relatively new, very secure and located roughly halfway between Perry's place and the office.

This week she'd taken vacation time and worked on decorating her new apartment before moving in. The last of the decor, the carpet, had been installed that afternoon. The carpet installer was the one "sweating and straining" over his job when Perry called her earlier.

The doors slid open and Mason exited the elevator, walked swiftly down the hallway and knocked on the door of Della's apartment. He didn't bother to try the knob, knowing it would be locked. When Della opened the door, he grinned. She was decked out in a cotton shirt and denim work pants, rolled up past her ankles. Her bare feet showed manicured toes digging into the pile of newly installed carpet.

"What do you think?" she asked. When she read the gleam in his eye, she added, "About the new carpet."

Reluctantly his gaze shifted to the floor. "Not bad. Not bad at all."

She moved aside to let him enter. He slipped an arm around her waist as he stepped inside.

"Well?" she asked after giving him a few moments to survey the space.

"Looks great. You've been busy."

"I tried to make good use of my time off. I'm sure I will have to pay for it when I go back to work."

The lawyer laughed. "I haven't been that bad, I hope. I even answered some of the mail while you've been gone!"

Della gave him a doubtful smile as she walked to the balcony doors. She began removing the last of the painter's tape that protected the door frame. "Got the painting finished just before the carpet guy got here. The movers should be here soon with the last of the furniture."

Mason reached up above her head to pull the pieces of tape from above the door. "I bought you a housewarming gift. It should be here any minute."

"Champagne? Or flowers? I have a vase here somewhere..." She looked dubiously at boxes stacked in the corner of the room.

"Neither! Guess again, Sherlock."

"Hmm...not champagne or flowers...that leaves some sort of _object d'art_," she said in an exaggerated French accent.

"I'm glad to know you speak French," he said, drawing her into his arms. "Because I'm taking you to Paris for our honeymoon."

"I don't think my high school French would stand up to the real thing. Besides, I think you are getting the cart before the _cheval_, don't you? I'm not going to marry you!" She smiled up at him, hands resting on his chest.

He leaned down and kissed her. "Maybe not today, but..." His voice trailed off as he kissed her again.

There was silence between them as Perry did his best to give her reason to change her mind. The sound of a knock at the door brought them back down to reality.

"That must be your present," he said.

"It knocks? How polite."

Mason chuckled as he crossed the room to the door. When he opened it, two delivery men were waiting with their cargo. A new couch. The lawyer waved them in and asked Della where she wanted it. For a moment she didn't answer, then gestured vaguely towards the wall opposite her fireplace. Mason tipped the men and within minutes they were gone. When he turned back to Della, she stood very still in the middle of the room, hands clasping her upper arms, eyes clouded.

"I, uh...bad idea?" he asked uncertainly.

"No," she murmured, then turned towards him, a sad smile lightening her features somewhat. "It's a perfect idea. And I even like the color."

"Good," he replied, relief written on his features. "I hate to admit it, but I snuck a decorator friend into your old apartment earlier this week while you were working over here. She got a sense of your style and helped me pick this out." He sat down in the middle of the couch, long legs stretched out on front of him, arms splayed across the back. "Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to help me try it out?"

Della joined him. "Nice and comfy," she said.

Perry dropped his arm to her shoulders and drew her closer. She didn't quite relax and silence fell between them. Finally, Mason asked, " What's wrong, Della? I messed up, didn't I?"

"Oh, Perry! No, you didn't - not at all. I can't believe you thought of this and went to the trouble of doing it. I really do like it."

"But?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but just shook her head.

"Please, Della?"

She leaned forward and put her face in her hands. His hand came to rest on her back, warm and supportive. When she finally lifted her head and spoke, her voice quivered with suppressed emotion. "I don't deserve you, Perry. You've done so much for me and I don't deserve any of it."

Protest battled with concern in his expression. "You know that's not true."

"It is true!" Her voice was taut. She shrugged off his hand and stood. Crossing the room as if to put as much space between the two of them as possible, she spoke again. "You talk about how brave I was or how strong I am. None of that is true. It's all lies. I was nothing but a scared little sheep. I gave up, Perry! I gave up! If you hadn't arrived when you did, he would have won. I quit fighting - I just stopped! I would have let that man rape me!" she finished in disgust, turning away from him.

Strong arms wrapped around her upper body. Perry had come to her and now held her tightly to his chest, his face buried in her hair. When he finally spoke, emotion made his voice rough. "You gave up? Della, darling, you did nothing of the sort." When she tried to speak, he tightened his grip. "No - listen to me, woman. A man, much bigger and much stronger than you, blindsided you and knocked you unconscious. Despite being bound and gagged, you managed to almost break the man's knee. He hit you, strangled you, and all but suffocated you. And still you held him off. It's a wonder the bastard didn't...didn't rape you while you were unconscious. But despite everything he did, you found the strength to hold him off until I got there. And even then, you managed to scream and let me know you needed help. You, Della - _you _did all of that."

He finally loosened his death grip so he could look down into her teary eyes. "Of course he would have raped you if I hadn't been there," he whispered, his voice cracking. "But that's not your fault. You gave him a hell of a fight. And I thank God every day that I managed to get there in time." Mason took hold of her shoulders and looked directly into her eyes, his gaze boring into her. "There was nothing you could have done. You are not to blame for what happened. You did everything humanly possible to prevent it. And it kills me to think of what you went through."

Tears spilled over her lower lashes. "I...I tried...to stop him...but I couldn't…"

Mason cupped her face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the tears. "I love you, Della Street. You are an amazing woman. You deserve everything I could ever give you and more."

"I love you, too." It was the first time she'd said those words. They seemed to slip so easily from her tongue; he doubted that she'd even noticed that she said them.

And then she surprised him.

Taking hold of his face in both hands, she kissed him long and hard. Then she looked into his eyes, her gaze bright and clear. "I love you," she repeated. "I do love you. And I want to be with you for the rest of my life, Perry Mason."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she silenced him with another kiss. "No," she said when she finally pulled away. "I'm not saying we should get married. But I want to be with you, loving you, forever. If you'll let me."

"Let you?!" He laughed. "I think that could be arranged."

She hugged him tightly, whispering those three words again and again. Perry reached up and removed her arms from around his neck. Holding her hands in his, he drew her back to the sofa. Slowly, carefully, he pulled her down on the couch with him. With exquisite tenderness and care he caressed her face, her neck, her body. She met him, touch for touch, giving herself over to the passion they shared.

Perry indulged his appetite for Della, delighting in the soft sighs and gentle moans he coaxed from her. Della luxuriated in the feel of his skin against hers and the magic his lips and hands could create for her.

Perry loved her with a gentleness that was born of deep and lasting devotion. She was not the first, but she would be the last woman he ever loved. That was certain. Della gave herself to him fully, melting into him, connecting body and soul. Together they crafted an ecstasy of new memories to sustain them.

Time passed, unbidden, and the lovers remained locked in each others arms. Finally, Della began to stir, reaching for whatever bits of clothing she could grasp without leaving Perry's arms.

"Whatcha doin'?" he mumbled drowsily. "Why do we have to get dressed?"

Della pressed a swift kiss to the bare skin of his chest. "Because the movers will be here any minute."

"Damn the movers," he mumbled, eyes still closed.

"You should be glad they're coming," she replied, sitting up and shrugging into her shirt.

"Why?"

Her eyes twinkled with promise. "Because they're bringing my bed!"

--The End--


End file.
